When Alex Kleytman was murdered at the age of eighty-seven, the world lost far more than a life—it lost a living witness to history. He had survived the Holocaust, endured the cruelty of humanity at its darkest, and still chose kindness every day he lived. On December 14, 2025, at the Bondi Beach Hanukkah Lighting Festival, a place meant for light, remembrance, and joy, Alex’s long journey ended in violence. In his final moments, he did what defined his entire life: he protected someone else, shielding his wife, Larisa, with his own body.
Alex was not shaped by bitterness, despite everything he had seen. Those who knew him remember a man full of warmth, humor, and curiosity, someone whose spirit seemed untouched by the horrors he survived as a child. He carried history inside him, but he did not let it harden his heart. He was cheerful, endlessly interesting, and talented in ways that surprised people even late in life. Alex was the kind of person who made others feel safe simply by being near them, a quiet strength built over decades of survival and resilience.
For Holocaust survivors, life itself is an act of defiance. Alex rebuilt what was meant to be destroyed. He loved deeply, laughed freely, and believed in the power of family and community. He attended the Hanukkah lighting not as a political act, but as a human one—to stand in the light, to celebrate survival, to honor memory. For him, Hanukkah was not just a tradition. It was proof that darkness does not win. That faith, culture, and love can endure even after unimaginable loss.
That night at Bondi Beach, when danger arrived, Alex did not hesitate. At eighty-seven, with a body that had already carried the weight of history, he acted on instinct and love. He placed himself between violence and his wife. The same courage that once helped him survive genocide now surfaced again—not to save himself, but to save her. He died shielding Larisa, ensuring that she would live. It was not a moment of fear. It was a moment of devotion.
For his family, the loss is beyond words. To lose a father is to lose an anchor. To lose a Holocaust survivor is to lose a voice that connected the present to the past. Alex was not just a victim; he was a storyteller, a reminder, a bridge between generations. His death is not only a personal tragedy but a historical one. Each survivor carries irreplaceable memories. When one is taken, an entire library of lived truth disappears with them.
Yet Alex Kleytman’s story does not end with his murder. It lives on in the life he saved, in the family who carries his values forward, and in every person who hears his name and understands what it represents. He survived humanity’s worst and still chose love. He lived through hatred and still believed in light. And in his final act, he showed the world exactly who he was. May his memory be a blessing—not just remembered, but honored, protected, and never forgotten.
